Tag Archive | development

Everything in your own time… for now

Dear Max

A while back I wrote a post on my worry about your speech – how you weren’t talking a lot, and whether I should intervene or let you learn speech in your own time.

Well, two weeks ago we went to the paed for your two-year checkup, and he didn’t seem worried about your lack of speech – we know you understand everything, and you’re happy and healthy, plus we were told that you are too young for speech intervention anyway. The doc said that you might not have a huge need to speak because you are being understood as you are.

You probably know about 25 words, and when you do say them, my heart still melts (even if it’s dada a hundred times over when you’re having a tantrum with me). Your latest words are poo and bum, and boy, are these funny. I think you see the humour too caus you also give a wry smile when you say them. So for now I’m trusting, chilling, trying to chill and loving listening to you (even the wails when I don’t buy something with wheels from the shops we go to).

High five Max!

Love Mom

I turn my back for three days and look what happens…

Dear Max

I missed you enormously while I was gone on my “work” trip (hard to call it work when it involves five-star service, but please don’t hate me). So I got back, and you bolted towards me and I hugged you hard. And then you bolted into my car to play. Fair enough. You dig cars.

So since coming home, I’ve been noticing that even though I was gone for *only* three days, you’ve evolved a bit. Your canines are mostly out now, you seem bouncier and more full of smiles, and while we were in Woolies you only wanted the salad ingredients and veggies off the shelf (usually you point and grunt towards fruit, cupcakes, sweets and chips). You are showing more confidence as well – at our haven Serendipity, you bounded in, and seemed to be more adventurous – climbing up and through the jungle gyms, and going down the slide almost unassisted. May I add here that I think and fear you have inherited my I Can’t Catch Or Throw A Ball gene? It could also be an age thing (you aren’t yet two), so let me not panic.

You are literally changing before our eyes. I look forward to each day watching your strides.


You'll notice a pattern - you aint letting go of that bottle!

Gift of the ungab… when do I start worrying?

Dear Max

I’ve never been big on developmental milestones and have never really followed where you to the week or month you should be in your development. I’ve kind of just relied on my own intuition, and on the rare doctor/nurse checkup, plus what your teacher thinks, rather than sticking to the books.

But now I’m starting to doubt myself a little, and your processes, and I’m getting a little worried about your limited vocab. At the moment you can say a few words – out (you must have picked this up from me while shouting at the dog), car, dada (though this extends to other people too), mama (same as with dada), tata (goodbye) and dankie (thank you). And while part of me thinks that you’re the kind of dude who does everything in his own time and that you’re more than fine, another part of me is freaking out a bit that there might be something *wrong*, or that you are “behind” in development.

The relaxed part of me is saying that you’re healthy, you’re happy and understand what people say to you, whether it’s “touch your head” or “let’s go and run your bath”. But something is nagging at me, and I don’t know whether to give into the nagging, or just chill a little and give it another month or so and take it from there.

And that’s the thing about parenting – you do what you think is best at the time, but it might not actually be the “best”. So if I leave it, and something is wrong, I might be causing you more harm. But if everything is proceeding as is right for you, and I start panicking and rushing you to experts, this might affect your confidence/happiness/security.

So for now, I’m leaving it for a little longer. I hope I’m not fucking up further. I hope you find your words in good time.

Love Mom